


The Swallow and the Fox

by Lyracst (AsYouWill)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Dream Sex, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsYouWill/pseuds/Lyracst
Summary: An exploration of the half-year in which Avallac'h and Ciri were stranded together in a hidden world.  Eventually, a continuation of their story after the events of The Witcher 3.As a disclaimer, this is fanfiction written by a fan and based on the novels written, created, and owned by Andrzej Sapkowski and by the subsequent video games. This work will contain spoilers from The Witcher 3 (video game) and The Lady of the Lake (novel).





	1. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking refuge in a world where they cannot currently be found by Eredin and the Wild Hunt, Avallac'h teaches Ciri about some of the characteristics of her power.

“Focus, Zireael.  Patience.”

He said it in the way he always said it, in that calm, simple tone that made her feel anything but patient, feel the very _opposite_ of patient.  She hated when he said it.  He must have seen her reaction to his words, the tiniest furrow of annoyance in her brow, or sensed it somehow, for he stepped closer and leaned forward to study her.  She knew the way, had watched him watch her many times - slow, meticulous, like an artist appraising his work. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel him near, sense the shadow cast by his body pass over her, and she could smell him.  The scent was unfamiliar, in that she had never experienced it prior to meeting him, yet it was familiar now, as it unfailingly lingered about him and seemed more intrinsic to him than a perfume or some other derived scent. It was earthy, herbal, pleasantly aromatic, and there was something else, something within it that she swore she almost recognized.  She tried to focus, but the effort it required seemed to only drive concentration further from her reach. She felt him lean closer still, and her thoughts scattered helplessly before she could check them. Suspicious, he pressed two fingertips to her forehead, and she gasped lightly, his mind probing hers.

 _A burst of white light.  The sun on her arms. Laughter,_ his _laughter, so rare that it sounded strange, and hers, too.  She was running, faster and faster, gaining momentum as she sprinted down the hill, almost too fast to control or to stop.  A twinge of fear._

_“Ciri!”_

_There was a note of alarm in his voice, and she soon discovered why.  She could feel the moment her balance was lost, sensed her feet depart from the ground as she slipped into a tumble.  A whoosh of air. Strong arms closed around, securing her, locking her in an upright position. Safe. She turned her head against his chest, her heart thumping inside of her, wild but fiercely, unceasingly alive.  She tilted her chin up, her bright green eyes meeting his frightening yellow ones. Though they were not frightening at all, truly, not to her. Her lips twisted into a grin of relief, an expression he mirrored. They both laughed._

He released her.  The sudden lapse back into the present sent a jolt through them both.  Ciri had thought she would be used to the sensation by now - to her dismay, he linked their minds easily and often - but each time, the connection and disconnection sent a small, not entirely unpleasant shudder through her.  The hint of pleasure the feeling left her only served to sharpen her temper further. She felt his fingertips fall away from her forehead.

“You’re not focusing, Zireael.”

“And _you’re_ not helping,” she snapped, her eyes flicking open to meet his gaze with an indignant glare.  “You know I hate it when you do that! You have no right!”

Avallac’h smiled faintly, vaguely, but did not respond, far too familiar with her combative nature by now to take the bait and argue with her.  It was a game they had played many times, one she turned to out of boredom. Flustered by his silence and refusal to rise to the challenge, she unlocked her crossed legs and dropped her arms to her sides with a soft groan.  

“Anyway, we’ve been at this for hours.  My legs are growing numb. Can’t we take a break?”

To her surprise, Avallac’h actually seemed to be considering her plea, and Ciri  was even more surprised when, after a moment, he nodded in assent.

“Truly?”  Her vibrant green eyes widened slightly in disbelief.

“Yes.  But we must be cautious and cannot stay for long.  And you must be the one to take us.”

Ciri jumped to her feet and leaned forward to dust the dirt from the knees of her breeches, eager to act immediately lest he change his mind.

“Where to?”

“Somewhere familiar, or somewhere new,” he mused, slowly and pensively turning his staff in his hands.  “Your choice.”

He offered her his arm in an unusual display of trust, and Ciri seized it with a grin, instantly whisking them far away from their secluded camp in a flash of brilliant, blue-green light.

\-----

Child of the Elder Blood.  Daughter of Lara Dorren. The Lion Cub of Cintra.   _Hen Ichaer_.  Those who knew her well had the audacity to simply call her ‘Ciri’, a small fragment of the gradiose, ridiculous string of names and titles bestowed upon her for her human lineage.  To him, she was Zireael.

Avallac’h watched her trace a path along the shore, dancing in and out with the motion of the tide, never letting the waves get too high up her boots.  She laughed as a particularly strong push of the current nearly knocked her off balance, and danced backwards towards solid ground. He followed slowly and far from the water’s edge, content enough to observe her antics and to enjoy the crisp sea air.  She loved the ocean, he knew, loved the sight of it, loved the power she sensed in its never-ending tide. The coast in their world was far too harsh for her to enjoy, the narrow beaches too rocky for swimming, the water too cold. She longed to travel more frequently, he knew, to flex her growing skills in a more practical way, but it was quickly becoming too dangerous to be worth the risk, even for these short trips.  Avallac’h frowned, his eyes unconsciously turning to the horizon and to the setting suns that burned so many brilliant shades of red. _Dearg Ruadhri_.  Eredin Bréacc Glas and his Riders were closing their circle, tightening their noose in their long pursuit around the Spiral.  It had been two months since Avallac’h had snatched her from Eredin’s closing grip, denying him the prize he sought so furiously, and Eredin had not slowed his chase for a moment since.  Ciri remained safe when in their world, but Eredin and those who stood beside him were uncovering their tracks more quickly and easily with each new plane they moved through.

 _Our world_ , Avallac’h reflected on the nature of his own thoughts with quiet amusement, the corner of his lips twitching into the faintest trace of a smile.  He returned his gaze to Ciri, who had since lost her balance, or surrendered it, and was seated, shoving her now-bare feet deep into the wet sand, the waves creeping up around her and lapping against her hands.  A few softly-curling tendrils of wild, ashen hair had fallen loose from the knot she kept it tied in. They fell around her face, partially obscuring her long, curving scar. She laughed in delight as the waves rolled in stronger, threatening to knock her arms out from under her.  The sound cut through air, high and sweet like a musical note and mingled with the cries of the gulls that circled overhead, and for a moment a different scene of a different time flashed before his eyes.

_“You’re wrong!”_

_“I don’t think so, m’hlaith,” he smiled, though he kept his head bowed to keep her from seeing it._

_“You are!”  She insisted with a laugh, a beautiful, magical sound.  “Look, it says right here!”_

_She extended a long, delicate finger and tapped the page of the book that lay open before them both._

_“Where?” He leaned in closer, pretending he could not see what she was referring to.  His arm brushed against hers, then his hand. She smiled softly, her eyes locked on the book, but she did not move away.  She cleared her voice gently and read to him._

_“‘_ Arxinia amaratus _is best harvested on the third new moon after its first blossom, as to most completely preserve its many delicate magical properties.’  I told you.”_

_Her thumb ran along the edge of his hand, ever so softly.  Avallac’h blinked in surprise and lifted his gaze to meet hers before he could stop himself.  She was staring at him with her wide, beautiful, seemingly bottomless green eyes, and he could not look away._

_“You did,” he replied, but his voice sounded distant, as though the words were spoken by someone else.  He could not look away._

_“Avallac’h…”_

He blinked, the light of the setting sun harsh against his eyes.  

“Avallac’h?”

She was just a few feet away, the gold enmeshed around her pupils catching fire in the sunlight.  For a moment, his heart clenched in his chest. _Lara_.  But the past ebbed away, replaced by the present, and Avallac’h felt a deep disappoint wash over him as he recognized her, swiftly tailed by shame.  Through no fault of her own, she did indeed bear Lara’s eyes, along with more than traces of Lara’s other features. Their resemblance was striking, eerie at times, and a source of subtle but constant torment.  Ciri’s resemblance to her ancestor, to his Lara, was like a haunting - each time he looked at her, he saw a ghost first, and not the girl she truly was. Ciri knew it, too. She saw it in the revulsion in his eyes, and when she saw him looking at her and remembering Lara, she looked him at just as she was looking now - with defiance.  With anger. With pain. Avallac’h averted his gaze, his fingers tightening around his staff.

“Apologies, Zireael, my thoughts wandered to another place.”

She said nothing, though no doubt she wished to.  Instead, Ciri turned to the sad state of her feet, which were caked in sand.  She set about cleaning them off as best she could, dancing from foot to foot on the beach, before nimbly pulling her boots back on.  

“We should return.”

She looked at him sharply, a frown tugging at the edges of her lips.  “Return? We’ve only just got here!”

“The longer we are away, the more time Eredin has to find us.  He’s getting better at tracking us. Or rather, Caranthir has,”  Avallac’h’s brow furrowed at the recollection of his protegee, but he swept the thoughts from his mind.  Now was not the time to dwell on past wounds, though they were many. “Let’s go.”

Ciri’s shoulders fell slightly in defeat, but she argued no further.  He extended his arm to her once more, and she took it, her fingers pressing hard as the air began to fizzle around them.  There was a sharp _crack_ , then silence.  The two suns sank beneath the horizon, giving way to the twin moons casting their pale light down along the empty shore.  

\-----

He left her to her own devices for the remainder of the day.  Ciri set out on her own without complaint, content to wander their world with only Kelpie to keep her company.  His mood always darkened when he thought of _her_ , and he thought of her often.  Ciri had learned it was best not to ask him, not to coax him into talking about the memories that encircled him.  He never shared, and Ciri had begun to understand it was mostly for her own sake that he kept his thoughts to himself.  When he was like this, she felt more alone at his side than without him, and so she wandered. Kelpie trotted through the deep forest effortlessly.  The mare wished to run, longed to feel the wind in her mane. Ciri felt the same. She guided Kelpie to the edge of the forest to the narrow path they often rode across the open, rolling meadows and let her fly.  She leaned against the mare’s muscled neck, squinting her eyes against the cutting wind, and cried out, urging Kelpie on. They ran for a long time, ran until Kelpie’s coat grew slick with sweat. They ran until they were both breathless, then stopped.  Ciri clutched the mare’s neck, her heart pounding as though she too had run, as fast as she was able. She felt like screaming. She felt like crying. She felt like fading away, dissipating into the cracks between times and places and running far away from their world.  Instead, she took a minute or two to recover, then they turned around together, woman and horse, and ran back.

It was after dark when Ciri finally urged the mare to return to their secluded camp.  When they arrived, Avallac’h was nowhere to be seen, but Ciri spent little time searching.  Instead, she saw to Kelpie, then took the liberty of quickly washing in the small, cold stream that flowed nearby.  She returned to the camp, damp and teeth chattering, and sunk into the pile of blankets that marked her place by the fire.  Her muscles felt tense and restless, but she ignored them as best she could and retrieved a handful of fruit they had collected earlier in the day.  It was a poor excuse for a meal, but it quieted her clamorous stomach long enough to give her some respite from her hunger. Ciri shivered against the cool night air and pulled a blanket more tightly around her shoulders.  She stared absently into the fire as her eyelids grew increasingly heavy.

She did not notice him appear, so softly did he move, like a wraith.  It was his eyes she noticed first. His strange, pale eyes. His face was inexpressive but kind, as it almost always was, but his eyes - they glowed strangely in the firelight and reflected a dangerous, molten shade that made his gaze even more piercing than normal.  

“Avallac’h?”  She spoke his name softly, her voice rough with fatigue and sleepy alarm.  

“I’m here, Zireael,” he reassured her, his own voice low and soothing.

Ciri sat up slowly, realizing she had sunk exhaustedly into her bed at some point.  She wished to speak to him, wished him to speak to her, wished to converse with him in a normal way, not about training or duty or destiny.  She often they talked of nothing else, and the monotony maddened her. He was the only other living person yet to be seen in this strange world they had taken up refuge in, and she knew very little about him.  He seemed to sense her desire, or he had thoughts of his own, for he continued to watch her from where he sat across the fire.

Her brow furrowed, the strangeness of his mannerisms beginning to worry her, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.”

She tilted her head doubtfully as he continued to watch her.  She was not certain if it was a trick of the flickering light or if it truly happened, but for a moment, Ciri thought she saw his gaze drop from her face to her chest, which was partially visible beneath the low neckline of her shirt now that she was sitting upright.  The thought sent a rush of blood to her head and colored her cheeks. To her sudden surprise, she felt a twinge between her legs.

“Are you sure?”

Her question trailed off as he stood up and drew closer, stepping around the fire to lower himself into a seated position right beside her.  Her heart began to beat a bit more quickly, and another question, or perhaps a series of questions, began to form on her lips, but his eyes flashed with something strange and new, and she lost the words she had been reaching for altogether.  After a moment, he spoke.

“You desire me,” he noted, a statement rather than a question.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she quickly looked away, searching desperately for anything to say, “I...it has little to do with you.  We’ve been trapped here so long, just the two of us, and I…,” she exhaled a slow, shuddering breath from between her teeth, her defeated gaze returning to his.  

His expression remained unchanged, but from this close, she could better see it.  Strangely, the look seemed akin to one of want. Her heart began to beat faster still, and Ciri felt her throat constrict with an unusual nervousness.  Slowly, Avallac’h removed the travel cloak he was wearing. He placed it aside, neatly, methodically, and removed his gloves as well. She did not dare ask, found she could not speak at all, so she waited, uncertain of what could come next.  She did not have to wait long.

“Lie back.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Or remain seated, if you wish - whatever is your preference.”

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, her temper flaring at last and instantly overcoming all else.  “Avallac’h, what are you doing?”

“You expressed that you have a need.  One that has little to do with me, as you’ve stated, but a need nonetheless.  And we are alone, in this world, as far as we know. If it is a need you cannot satisfy yourself, then I shall help you.  If you wish.”

His frustratingly mechanical answer drove her back to speechlessness.  Struggling to comprehend what he was telling her, she continued to glare at him in disbelief.  He waited, ever patient. As the silence began to grow and stretch, an itching thought worked its way into her mind.   _Why not?  What would be the harm?  Why_ shouldn’t _he tend to you?  He needs you, after all.  He needs your blood, needs the power that it holds.  Isn’t it fair that he do something for you in return?_ Her stomach roiled at the wickedness of the thought, but she slowly lowered herself onto her back nonetheless, her eyes glinting with wariness.  Avallac’h inclined his head, acknowledging her mistrust.  She fell back completely and waited. For a long moment, she waited, eyes trained on the stars, but nothing happened.  It was not long at all before impatience took over.

“So what does your proposal entail, exactly?  What are you planning to--ah!”

The sensation had started so gently, crept in so gradually, that at first Ciri had not noticed it all.  But the feeling seemed to cross a threshold and suddenly made itself apparent in the form of an intense, warm vibration that centered itself on the sensitive peak between her legs and radiated outward and over her body.  She flashed a wide-eyed look at Avallac’h. He was watching her with that same, unfaltering expression, but when her gaze locked with his, she was certain she caught just a glimpse of a grin tug at the corner of his lips.  Ciri glared venomously, but another, sudden pulse made her cry out again with delighted surprise, and any impending argument instantly dissipated. One of his hands was raised slightly, his fingers pointed upwards. It was not visible, but she could feel it.  From his palm emanated a strong, familiar energy. _Her_ energy.  She realized, suddenly, that he must be drawing from her own power, conducting it, and focusing it back at her.  

“Exactly so, Zireael,” his tone was oddly smug and patronizing, like a teacher congratulating a dumb pupil with praise.

She gritted her teeth, but before she could even begin to form a thought this time, the energy pulsed again, and Ciri moaned, her forearms trembling so intensely that she could no longer hold herself up.  She sank back into her blankets in surrender. He seemed to approve of her decision, as the pulsing flowing through her grew stronger still, honing in on the most sensitive points of her body. It throbbed between her legs, warmed her abdomen, kissed her nipples, her neck, gently bit at her lips.  Though still almost completely clothed, Ciri felt as though she was surrounded by attentive lovers, crawling over her, touching all of her at once. She moaned again, louder, and spread her legs beneath her blankets.

The intensity of the sensation felt as though it was pulling her in every direction.  She was overwhelmed with pleasure, lost in it, so absorbed by it that she felt as though she would drown.  Her vision darkened, and the sounds in her ears - the soft noises of the forest, the gentle hum of the magic he was directing at her, the piercing notes of her own moans - began to grow distant and faint.  Through it all, his voice cut like a knife, low and gentle, but commanding.

“ _Focus, Zireael_ .   _Patience._ ”

He said it in the way he always said it, in that calm, simple tone that made her feel anything but patient, feel the very _opposite_ of patient.  She loved when he said it.

Ciri did as he instructed, forcing the pleasure into a honed point and directing it to where she desired it the most.  For a moment, it felt as if every muscle in her body trembled from the force of it, quivering, building, and then releasing.  She shuddered hard, almost violently, and screamed, her cry piercing through the near-silence of their reclusive camp and the forest around them.  

Ciri awoke with a start and instantly sat up in her makeshift bed.   _A dream?_ Her eyes flicked across the fire to where he usually slept, but the brightness of the flames obscured her sleep-ridden vision.  She blinked a few times and focused. He was there, in his bed, turned away from her. _Asleep_.  She gave a quiet sigh of relief and tried to collect her thoughts, which remained scattered and agitated.  Her body felt equally as restless and, Ciri noticed with a mixture of surprise and indignation, aroused. There was an undeniable wetness between her legs, and an ache.  An ache so powerful that she felt helpless to do anything but push aside her annoyance and address it. Ciri glanced across the fire once more, her teeth tugging anxiously at her bottom lip.  Avallac’h remained motionless, other than his outline, which rose and fell steadily beneath the furs piled on top of him. She eased herself back down into her bed, drew the blankets over herself, and slipped her fingers between her legs.  

Her lips parted slightly, and her fears were confirmed.  She was extremely excited, shamefully so. For some time, she had toyed with the idea that she found Avallac’h attractive in some way, but Ciri had refused to address the thought directly.  After all, it was his fault she was here. He had lured her to his world, had held her there against her will, had forced her to lay with the Alder King. It was because of Avallac’h that she had met Eredin, that Eredin had seen her, touched her, and was now able to track her through time and space.   _But he also saved me_.   _From Eredin and his Red Riders_.

Ciri’s eyes remained locked on his shadowed, slumbering figure, alert for any movement or sign of stirring.  Her fingers pressed down, circling slowly in a steady, persistent pattern. She sighed softly, allowing her thighs to fall outwards, and her body relaxed into a pleasurable rhythm.  She focused on the feeling that still lingered from the dream, concentrated on the details that had made it so vivid, and moved her fingers faster: the buzzing vibration of the energy he had directed to her, the sensation as it swept over her skin and settled onto her most sensitive areas, the look in his eyes as he watched her…

Her breath shuddered, and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.  Her back arched sharply and pressed into the ground. For several long moments, her muscles remained locked in place as a rush of pleasure swept through her, granting her the much-needed release she had been hoping for.  Ciri fought to control her unsteady breathing, a trick she had learned and used often in quite another context, but it worked just as well now as it did on the battlefield. She released her breath with a slow, long exhale, and let her shoulders fall back as her body relaxed.  Her head was still reeling when reason began to return, bringing with it a whole host of conflicting thoughts and feelings, the most prominent of which was embarrassment. He was Aen Elle, born of a race that, Ciri had learned first-hand, despised humans. He had been and still seemed to be almost fanatically obsessed with Lara Dorren, from whom Ciri was descended.  He was secretive, strange, and older than she could comprehend. Logically, there was very little that she should find appealing about him at all. She should hate him, in fact, and perhaps she did. But she wanted him, despite all else.

Ciri withdrew her hand and closed her eyes, struggling to silence the multitude of thoughts and arguments rushing through her mind.   _Focus, Zireael_.  She could hear the words - his instructions, his voice - so infuriatingly appropriate, even now.  Silencing an impending groan of frustration, Ciri turned her back on the fire and on him, and shut her eyes harder, demanding her uncertainty to subside and for sleep to take its place.  Eventually, it did.


	2. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While exploring their isolated world, Ciri recalls her first encounter with Eredin after leaving Tir ná Lia. In a moment of urgency, Avallac'h and Ciri join in battle.

By the time Ciri awoke, it was well past dawn.  The fire had died down to sputtering embers. Avallac’h’s bed was empty.  She was not surprised, but neither was she in the mood to dwell on it too deeply.  Avallac’h’s feelings were his own, as he had made very clear from his distant demeanor and refusal to answer any of her questions.  In truth, after the dream she had had the night before, Ciri was grateful to be apart from him. Her thoughts drifted back to the dream, and she shuddered lightly, suddenly recalling with striking clarity how intense, how  _ real  _ it had felt.  She was no stranger to vivid dreams – she had had them often ever since that fateful night in Cintra, many years ago – but this one had seemed different.   _ It wasn’t a nightmare, for one. _

Ciri pulled on her boots and let down her hair, impatiently running her fingers through the long, erratic ashen waves to smooth it as best she could before tying it up again.  She let a long piece fall loose across the scarred side of her face. The morning was cool as she set off from their camp, but the bright sun and cloudless sky promised a beautiful day.  She set off at a quick pace, astride Kelpie, and delighted at how quickly the current of the wind swept away the negative feelings she had harbored since awakening. Kelpie seemed to share her improved mood.  The mare’s powerful legs churned, her muscles rippled, carrying them both far and fast. Ciri turned the mare away from the path to the sea and instead headed in a new direction, pushing deeper into the forest, an area that she had left unexplored until now due to the difficult terrain.  Kelpie seemed up the challenge. The mare was remarkably sure-footed, and the rougher, uneven path hardly slowed her down at all. The forest thickened around them, and the way ahead grew dim, the canopy above blocking out most of the sunlight. The air grew much cooler. Ciri shivered and slowed Kelpie to a trot.  

They had reached a sluggish, narrow stream that ran adjacent to a jagged outcropping of stone.  Beyond the stream, the terrain rose sharply into a series of hills that cut upward through the treetops.  Ciri craned her neck in an attempt to see the tops of them, but they were obscured by foliage. It seemed clear enough that there was no going over them, not here, so she urged Kelpie onward and followed the stream, hoping to find a break in the hills they could pass through.  The going was slower, now, and more cautious as they explored. Kelpie seemed on edge and skittish, and Ciri mirrored the mare’s discomfort, though she could not place why. She knew for certain she had not seen this place before, though there was something about the thickening trees that felt strangely familiar and made her reminisce.  

Her thoughts drifted back over the past couple of months, wandering back to the when they had first landed in their world, when their unlikely partnership had just begun.  Goosebumps rose along Ciri’s arms, and it was difficult to determine whether it was due to the chilled forest air or to the clarity with which she remembered it all…

\-----

“Run until you collapse,  _ until your heart gives out _ if you wish,  _ luned _ .  I will find you.”

His voice boomed through the trees, seeming to come from all directions at once and startling a flock of crows into flight in a burst of dark feathers.  But the pounding of hooves made it clear where they were, and they were not far behind her. Ciri leapt nimbly over another jutting root, her sword clattering on her back.  She cursed silently, not wishing to waste a single, precious breath, as the sounds of their pursuit grew louder still.  _ If only I had Kelpie... _ But they had caught her returning from a foraging trip and had strategically cut her off from her path back to her shabby, hidden camp, and from her mare.  She hoped for Kelpie’s sake that she had bolted far and fast, frightened by the scent and clamor of the Hunt and their dreadful hounds. 

Ciri veered sharply to the left, opting to abandon the relatively clear path she was on for the thicker, wooded area nearby.   _ The trees ought to slow them down.   _ And they seemed to.  For a moment, the noise of them seemed to fade, and she dared to slow her pace long enough to try to catch her breath.   _ Control your breathing.  Remember what he taught you _ .  For a moment, his face flashed before her eyes, kind in its own way, only hardened by the strenuous life he had led since childhood.   _ Geralt… _ But the memory melted away with an unpleasant pang as Ciri remembered what fate had befallen him and Yennefer both.  She had little time to process the grief that had suddenly risen, as the foliage not far to her right exploded, and an armored rider charged into view.  

_ Not just any rider…it’s him _ .

His cape glimmered, even in the half-light of the forest, reflecting its varied shades of red.  The predominant shade was a malevolent crimson, the color of pooling blood. He wore no mask, and as she darted away from him, she caught a glimpse of his vivid green eyes from behind his wild, dark hair, locked onto her every move and filled with a horrible excitement that made her stomach drop and twist.   _ Like prey _ .  Her heart surged, and so did she, sprinting towards a thicket of trees that would be nearly impossible to ride through.  She reached the edge of the trees just moments before him, and his voice cut through the air with a hissed curse as she slipped out of his reach.  Ciri did not dare to slow her pace. Behind her, she heard a heavy thud as he leapt from his horse, landing roughly on booted feet. She could hear his armor rattling as he continued to chase her on foot.  The way before her was growing narrower and narrower, the trees thickening around her until the branches tore at her clothes and hair. So close behind her, he laughed, a grating, chilling sound, like the moan of metal against metal.

“You’re mine, Zireael!”

The ground before her dropped off sharply, but she could not afford to hesitate.  Ciri flung herself forward and dashed down the hill, quickly losing her footing to her own momentum.  She threw her shoulder forward, tucking her head, and let herself roll. The descent was rough, but not too long.  When her tumble had slowed nearly to a stop, she leapt to her feet and cried out, her ankle nearly giving way beneath her weight.   _ Sprained.  Damn it _ .  She cast a wild look towards the top of the hill.  He was descending, but slowly, cautiously. He did not have to hurry.  He could see quite clearly that she was wounded. He knew as well as she that she would never escape if she fled.  Her fingers reached over her shoulder, closing around the hilt of her sword. She drew her blade. The sight of her, hobbling, covered in dirt and blood, drawing her weapon for one desperate last stand, apparently amused him.  He laughed again as he descended, his armored arms spread in mock greetings.

“Your wings are clipped, so you bear your claws, Zireael.  I’m impressed at your ferocity, but there’s no need for it.  You flee from me, turn your weapon on me out of ignorance. You run blindly, like an animal.  You do not even know the reason for your fear.”

Ciri gritted her teeth and clenched her sword, holding it at the ready before her.  He was nearly to the bottom of the hill.

“I know you wish to drag me back to your world, keep me prisoner, force me to bear your child.  You want the Elder Blood,  _ my  _ blood.  You wish me to surrender it.  I will not!”

“I am not your enemy, Zireael,” Eredin’s face changed.  The wildness in his eyes receded, his voice became somber, earnest, almost coaxing.  “You speak of Avallac’h’s desires, not mine. We’ve never spoken of what I want, what I hope for.  We never had the chance.”

“I don’t trust  _ either _ of you,” she spat, fingers flexing on her hilt.  

“What reason do you have to doubt me?”  Eredin lowered his arms, but continued to step closer, moving lithely across the now-flat ground, moving in a slow, wide circle around her.  “Did I not tell you the truth? That you shouldn’t trust Avallac’h? That he lied to you from the start, planned to keep you in Tir ná Lia regardless of whether you held up your end of the deal?”

“How can I know if that was the truth?  You killed your king before he could…”

Ciri shuddered with disgust and anger.  She wished he would stop talking and start fighting.

“A grave accusation,” Eredin’s countenance remained measured, solemn.  His eyes remained locked on her as he continued his arc around her. “I was sorry to hear of Auberon’s death, as were we all.  But no amount of grief can change the past now. Now, we all must act to change our future. That is why I am here, Zireael. That is why I pursue you.  Avallac’h wishes to take the Elder Blood back from you. He would do so by force, in his cold, sterile lab, if he had to. Although our goals might ultimately appear the same, I wish to force nothing upon you, steal nothing from you..”

He stepped closer, ceasing his arc to move directly towards her.  Ciri did not move, did not lower her sword. She waited, patiently, as calmly as she was able, for him to move within striking distance.  He paused just outside of it, a sad smile crossing his strange, harsh features. 

“Your fate is sealed, Zireael, but it need not be unpleasant.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, gnashing her teeth.

“Quite the contrary, I could make it quite pleasurable for you.  The way you felt before, when I spoke to across time and space, you feel the same now.  I can sense it. You tremble when I draw near, but not out of revulsion. You wonder, imagine.  And you deprive yourself, out of fear, but there is no need. Return with me now to Tir ná Lia, and I will satisfy any and every desire you wish.”

“You’re insane!”  But there was a tremor in her voice, a blush across her cheeks, that betrayed too much.  

He grinned, a flash of the wildness returning to his eyes, and lunged forward.  Her stomach clenched within her. She shifted her weight and swung her sword. Eredin must have assumed she was bluffing, for though he managed to dodge to the side, he did not react quickly enough.  Her sword grated along his breastplate, leaving a long, clean scratch. He turned to her, the look of hateful, covetous fury renewed in his gaze.    
  
The rest happened very quickly.  He lifted his hand to the sky and snarled a phrase in Elder Speech that she did not recognize.  A flash of red light ascended from his fingertips like a beacon, and the treeline at the top of the hill exploded with motion.  His Red Riders had been watching, waiting for his command. They descended quickly, the hounds leading the group, filling the air with their horrible, screeching cries.  His Dearg Ruadhri followed soon after atop their lean, rasping mounts with their hollow, gleaming eyes. Their weapons were raised and ready. Ciri watched them for a moment, wide-eyed with mounting terror.  She could never hope to outrun them. They would be upon her in moments. There was only one way to escape. The air around her crackled, and the fine hairs on her arms and neck began to rise...but the path was blocked.  Her heart jolted with alarm as she first feared that she had done something incorrectly and was about to be ripped apart, molecule by molecule, then realized with a sinking feeling that she could not teleport at all. Eredin was watching her closely, a malicious smile spreading across his harsh features.     
  
“You truly are mine, Zireael,” he rasped.  “At last.”

Atop the hill stood a prominent figure, one of Eredin’s riders, and one that stood out from the rest.  In his hand, he clutched a tall staff topped with a pulsing, white orb encased in a cage of metal - the source, she sensed, of her inability to escape.   _ The masked mage. _  Ciri had glimpsed him once or twice before, but she had paid him little heed until now.  She cursed and returned her attention to Eredin, who was slowly closing the little distance left between them, his venomous eyes alight with anticipation.  Ciri raised her sword once more, or attempted to, only to find that even her muscles were no longer her own. The same magic that had prevented her from teleporting to safety was now binding her in place.  As though encased in ice, she could not move, could not struggle, could hardly breathe.  _ No...gods, no.   _ A cold shiver of dread shot down her spine as Eredin drew closer still, seeming to tower over her, and close enough for her to see her own panicked reflection in his malevolent gaze...

A brilliant flash lit up the side of the hill, concentrated in the orb atop the staff of the masked mage.  The orb flared, flickered wildly, then was suddenly snuffed out as if by a great gust of wind. Simultaneously, the air next to her shivered and erupted with a deafening crack as if the very fabric of the space had been ripped open.  Ciri shielded her face from the sudden burst of energy, then looked up in surprise upon finding that she could move once more.  _ And able to lift my sword _ .  But Eredin had stumbled backwards, the victorious smirk on  his face receding into a hideous mask of fear and fury, directed solely at the figure that had emerged from the portal.

“ _ Zireael, you must come with me _ .”

There was no time to respond, no time to shake off his grasp, twist out of the arm that wrapped around her waist, for Ciri recognized the voice that had spoken, and she had no desire to do as she was commanded.  But she had no choice. The hill, swarming with the dreaded  _ Dearg Ruadhri,  _ was retreating.  Eredin, just a moment ago so close he had nearly had her in his grasp, was growing distant and pale, no more than a specter.  The sounds of the Hunt were no longer deafening. Instead, there was a rising rushing sound, then a sharp, echoing  _ crack _ , then nothing but the labored, tremulous sounds of their breaths.

Ciri felt incredibly nauseous.  She dropped to her knees and took a long, shuddering breath, focusing in the way  _ he _ had taught her.   _ Control your breathing _ .  Her breathlessness was swiftly replaced with anger as she felt her rescuer draw near.  

“Zireael--”

Her fingers closed around the hilt of her sword.  Ciri sprung to her feet, tottering immediately as the pain in her ankle flared.  She caught herself and steadied her pose, pointed her blade directly at the Aen Elle’s chest.    
  
“Stay back.  I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Avallac’h looked genuinely surprised to be standing at the edge of her sword.  He stopped his advance instantly, his eerily pale eyes wide and serious as they locked with hers.  His face was drawn and gaunt, she noticed, and he looked to be as breathless as she was. He was leaning heavily on his staff.  Ciri’s ankled twinged with pain, effectively draining away some of her resolve, and she lowered her sword with an exhausted sigh.  

“Eredin and his Riders aren’t enough?  Now you’re here as well? To take me back?”

He looked as though he was about to speak, but she cut him off sharply.  

“So how will it work?”  She snapped. “Whoever catches me first gets to bed me?  And I assume that also means whoever catches me will take your Alder King’s place?  And live in glory as the savior of your people, the one who reclaimed your precious Elder Blood?”

“Zireael, I am not here to harm you--”

Ciri laughed derisively and sunk to the ground, no longer able to stand, but she kept her sword at the ready.  If he planned to capture her, he would not have any easy time of it. Relieved to no longer have her blade pointed at his heart, Avallac’h took a long breath, his shoulders sagging.  

“You doubt me, and you have reason to.  The last time we met--”

“You used me like a toy to entice your impotent king, threatening to keep me from ever seeing my loved ones again!”

“There was a great deal at stake,” he replied grimly, his eyes growing hard and cold.  “I did what I thought I had to do, and I failed. Now, there is an even greater risk.”

“I feel no pity for you.”

Avallac’h seemed to turn to stone at her insolence.  He turned away, staring off somewhere into the distance, his face an unreadable mask.  It was true, she did not feel pity for him, but she did feel regret for having spoken so harshly.  She sheathed her sword and rubbed her face furiously, trying desperately to shake off the adrenaline and the flurry of twisted emotions her encounter with Eredin had left her with.  

_ “You truly are mine, Zireael.  At last.” _  Eredin’s words had filled her with dread.  But they had filled her with something else, as well.  With something that had awoken the very first time she had seen him, something she had no desire to acknowledge, for the thought of it filled her with shame.  It was not unlike the feeling Avallac’h inspired.  _ Curiosity.  Willingness.  Or, desire. _

Ciri cursed, drawing Avallac’h’s attention.

“Are you hurt?”

Surprised at his concern, she twisted her foot and winced.  Her ankle was beginning to swell and turn an unpleasant color.  

“I can assist--”

The look of warning in her eyes gave him pause as he knelt next to her, but he continued in spite of her, adopting a rather stubborn look of his own.  She would have squirmed away from his touch, but the pain kept her still. His fingers deftly undid the laces of her boots, gently pushed up the leg of her trousers to expose bare skin.  His hands were careful, his touch not unpleasant as he examined her. In fact, his touch felt rather enjoyable, even soothing, and it carried the same tingling trait that Ciri had experienced during her nights with the Alder King.  She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax for a moment.

“You shouldn’t walk like this,” Avallac’h muttered his assessment, slowly retracting his hands.  “I can administer magic that will help with the pain, but it would be dangerous to do so here, unprotected.  There is a place, not far from here, that I’ve prepared for us--”

“You did  _ what _ ?”  Her eyes snapped open.  “A place for ‘us’, meaning you expect me to stay here with you?”

“You must.”

Ciri stuttered with unbelieving anger, a barrage of questions, accusations, and insults brimming at her lips.  Avallac’h held up his hand to quickly dispel them, which managed to make her angrier. 

“Ciri, please listen.”

Her eyes widened at his use of her name, her whispered voice strained with fury, “How did you know to call me that?  I’ve never told you my name.”

“I’ve been watching you, waiting for you,” he confessed.  “I’ve been tracking you since you fled Tir ná Lia. But before you curse me and leave, please listen to me.  When you fled, I could have chased you and caught you, but I did not. It was clear to me that I had already failed you, that I had my chance to work with you harmoniously and wasted it out of desperation and fear.  I was wrong. I do not regret my actions. As I said, I did what I felt had to be done to protect my people. But I  _ am _ sorry for how I treated you.  Forgive me, Zireael.”

Ciri tilted her chin forward defiantly.  In truth, she understood his reasoning more than she cared to admit, and she wished to believe he was sincere, but how could she?  He had used her shamelessly, and as little as it seemed to mean to him, it meant a great deal to her. 

“If you’re sorry, why are you here?  What do you want from me now?”

“Your trust, Zireael,” his eyes locked with hers, and she could see the desperate sincerity in them, hear it in his voice.  “And your help.”

\-----

The heavy snapping of twigs brought her back to the present with a jolt.  A heartbeat later, she felt Kelpie’s muscles ripple and braced as the mare danced sharply to the side, preparing to run.  It was too late. The source of the mare’s alarm was already far too close. Ciri had never seen a creature like it before.  In terms of size, it resembled a fiend, a massive, horned creature she had seen only in the dusty tomes Vesemir had once forced her to read.  But in place of hooves, this creature had long, curved claws. Instead of a short coat, it had long, shaggy fur that hid most of its body. Its face was long and predatory with massive jaws and a dark, protective film that obscured its eyes.  And it was approaching them surprisingly rapidly, given its size, closing the distance between them in a few powerful bounds. 

Ciri leapt from Kelpie’s back and instinctively struck the mare’s hindquarters, as she had seen Geralt do many times.  The mare shot away obediently, her quick movements drawing the beast’s ravenous attention. Cursing, Ciri snatched up the closest, largest stone she could find and flicked her wrist, striking the creature directly in the ear.  It turned its attention to her with a snap of its head. The creature was upon her in a moment, lunging its open jaws forward with no small amount of power. Ciri stumbled backwards and drew her sword, but her heel caught on a jutting root, sending her toppling to the ground.  The beast struck, but she struck faster. As the creature reached for her with open mouth, Ciri thrust her sword upwards and through the underside of its jaw. 

_ “Zireael!” _

She did not know where he had come from, had neither seen him nor heard him, but never had she heard him sound so alarmed.  Fighting to keep hold of her sword as the creature attempted to shake free, she glimpsed him standing near the edge of the forest, an eerie blue glow emanating from his raised staff.

“Relax, I can do this!”  She shouted over the infuriated roars of the beast, but she felt less certain than her words suggested.  The creature’s snapping maw was getting closer, despite her best efforts to shove it away from her torso.  Rolling her weight onto her upper back, Ciri braced her feet against the creature’s face and tore her sword free of its mouth, purposefully twisting the blade.  The thing howled in pain and retreated a few precious steps, giving her time to leap to her feet. Avallac’h was beside her. 

“Focus, Zireael,” he instructed calmly, kindly, but his voice was strange, distorted, and the blue glow emanating from his staff seemed to now be emanating from all of him.  He lifted his hand towards her, and the Power arced from him to her with a sharp crack. 

Ciri gasped.  The sensation that swept over her was familiar, similar to what she had experienced when first learning to tap into the Power with Yennefer years ago, but there was something about it that was new and very alluring.  Within moments, she was bathed in a deep tingling that seemed to warm her from within. It crept along the fine hairs of her arms, snaked along her sinews, and settled in her core. Her lips parted, and she suppressed another gasp as she felt it tingling in her groin, encouraging a growing and aching arousal reminiscent of what she had felt in the previous night’s dream.  She felt undeniably ravenous...and strong.

She raised her sword, the world around fading as her focused honed on the monster.  The creature had regrouped, its rage heightened from the wound she had inflicted. It lowered itself to charge, its powerful legs bracing against the earth with force that seemed to rattle the rocks on the ground.  The beast sprang forward, and so did she, arching her blade in a powerful swing. Her blade, seemingly charged with the energy that encapsulated her, cut deep and burnt through the creature’s flesh as it did so. The smell of burnt skin and hair filled the air, as did an agonized roar of pain as the blade grated against bone.  Her sword was buried deep in the creature’s shoulder. Wrenching herself free, Ciri sprang away as the beast gave one final, desperate swipe of its arm, missed, and collapsed forward onto the ground. A dark, rancid pool quickly formed around its head and shoulders as it gave one last sigh, shuddered, and was still.

Her eyes wide with lingering adrenaline, she exhaled a long, shuddering breath and sheathed her sword.  Avallac’h touched her arm lightly, and she jumped in alarm. 

“Are you alright?”  

Ciri looked at him, dazed, and noticed that the glow that had surrounded them both was gone, and his voice had returned to its normal, gentle cadence.  She noticed, too, that his eyes held what seemed to be genuine concern. In fact, he was watching her very closely, and Ciri became more intensely aware of how close they stood, of the way his fingers pressed into her upper arm.  

“Zireael?”   


His voice seemed faint, dulled by a low, persistent pulsing in her ears.  She ran her tongue across her lips, keenly aware of how much her muscles were trembling and how, though the Power had receded, the ache between her legs remained.  She leaned towards him, swaying on unsteady feet. She wished to tell him…

“Avallac’h...” 

She wished to tell him, but the adrenaline was ebbing away, and the fight had taken a greater toll on her than she had expected.  Her vision dimmed, and she felt a sudden, swelling vertigo, but she never felt the impact of the ground.

“I have you,” his voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper.  The rest was darkness.


	3. Time and Time Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While tending to an unconscious Ciri, Avallac'h recalls his early attempts to request her help and reflects on the parallels between past and present. While unconscious, Ciri experiences another powerful dream.

Avallac’h caught her weight gently as she fell, taking advantage of the momentum of her faint to sweep her legs out from under her and into his arms.   _ She weighs very little _ .  He noted the press of her ribcage, the sharp jutting of her hip bones through her clothing with a twinge of sadness, and perhaps guilt.  He knew for a fact that before he had brought her to their world, she had been on the run ever since she had left Tir n á Lia, and very likely since long before that.  There was a good chance, he knew, that the woman in his arms had never  _ not _ been on the run, never  _ not _ been looking over her shoulder in fear, always expecting the worst.  Bracing her weight against his chest, Avallac’h brushed a few errant tendrils of hair back from her pale face.  

“I am sorry,” he whispered, to her and to no one.  She did not stir, and his words remained unheard, lost to the breeze.

Shifting his arm to better support her head, Avallac’h turned in the direction of their camp, but a thought made him pause.   _ The mare _ .   _ Kelpie. _  He scowled.  He knew from experience how difficult the horse could be- not unlike her rider, the mare was tremendously headstrong- but he also knew how furious Ciri would be if he left the mare to fend for herself.  He turned instead in the direction he had seen her bolt and set off. As they entered the edge of the forest, Avallac’h freed a hand as much as we was able, and made an elaborate sign.

“ _ Mire, _ ” he muttered, and the mare’s tracks revealed themselves with a soft, golden glow.  He continued forward, more cautiously now, mindful of the roots and craggy rocks jutting up from the ground.  Avallac’h could not help but chuckle softly at the absurdity of the situation, and at how similar it was to the first time he had transported Ciri to their world.

\----

“My trust?  My  _ help _ ?”  She snorted bitterly and tugged the leg of her breeches back down over her swelling ankle.  “That’s a lot to ask, Avallac’h.”

“I realize,” he replied softly, disappointed at his inability to persuade her.  

She said nothing for a long time, her brilliant, emerald eyes unfocused with thought, and he did not interrupt her.  It was her decision to make, and he knew he would not stop her if she chose to leave. Not for the first time, she surprised him.   

“Whatever it is you wish to ask, it’s pointless to discuss it here,” her eyes flicked warily to his.  “Take me back to your camp, then.”

He wasted no time in obeying and perhaps too eagerly attempted to slip his arms beneath her.  With deadly reflexes, she shoved him away with a furious scowl. 

“I meant  _ lead _ me back to your camp, not carry me!”

“Zireael, you’re wounded, as we’ve already established.  Walking will only worsen it. Please, allow me to help you.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve dealt with worse before.  And anyway, I doubt you could carry me all the--”

Ciri gave a muffled yelp as he hoisted her into his arms and stood with little effort, silencing her doubts.  Avallac’h knew how he differed from the males of her species, knew he appeared tall and boyish in stature in her eyes.  He knew also that, like most Aen Elle, he was much stronger than he appeared, a fact that he found he was oddly pleased to share with her.  She cast an uncertain arm around his shoulders to support herself, and for a brief and shamefully pleasant moment, he could feel her fingers curl into the folds of his cloak, feel the press of her nails through his clothes.  He felt, too, her soft shudder as a patch of bared skin on her arm brushed against his neck, and the resulting mingling of their individual magical energies sent tingling vibrations through her body. For a moment, she looked at him earnestly, likely wondering if he felt the same sensation.  Her curiosity quickly melted into stubborn indifference, however, and her questioning gaze turned into a scowl. She adjusted the sleeve of her blouse.

“Well?  Let’s get on with it!”  She snapped, clearly displeased with the dependency of her current position.  He obeyed, and with no little effort hid the smug smile that threatened to creep across his lips.  

She sulked for the entirety of their journey, saying little.  Avallac’h did not mind and was content to focus on finding the smoothest path back to the camp he had prepared.  He remained alert and wary. Though he had spent some time in this world already, there was a great deal of it that he was not familiar with, and there was no telling what unfamiliar challenges might present themselves.  Fortunately, their journey was quick and uneventful, and Ciri perked up slightly at the sight of the camp. Avallac’h had done his best to make it presentable, collecting blankets and furs to assemble proper beds for them both and taking the time to dig a suitable hearth.  He had also collected some food that he knew would be agreeable to her biology, including an assortment of berries and a few small, silver fish that he had left smoking over the fire. As he had suspected, it had been some time since she had eaten a proper meal, judging by the growling of her stomach at the scent of the cooking fish.  He lowered her gently, kneeling to place her on the pile of furs that designated her sleeping space. It was the taller of the two piles of blankets, and the space more sheltered from the wind by the stone overhang that marked the far side of their camp. Ciri cast a critical eye over the camp, clearly prepared for two people, then glanced at him with a raised brow.

“You really believed I would willingly come with you?”

“I had hoped,” he admitted, remaining knelt beside her.  “Thank you for agreeing to stay.”

“For now,” she corrected sharply, carefully stretching out her wounded leg.

“Yes,” he conceded softly, “for now.  Take deep, slow breaths, Zireael. This should not hurt, but it may feel strange.”

Ciri set back and let him proceed, her shoulders rising and falling steadily as she did as he asked.  If she felt any discomfort, she showed no sign of it. In fact, she seemed atypically relaxed despite their closeness.  As he applied a smooth, consistent flow of energy to the inflamed portion of her leg, he pressed his fingers carefully into the muscles.  Her eyes cracked open suspiciously.   
  
“What are you doing?”   
  
“Massaging your leg muscles.”   
  
“I noticed,” she grumbled, an edge of irritation in her voice.  “ _ Why _ are you massaging my leg?”

“To increase blood flow, Zireael,” Avallac’h paused and look up at her in exasperation.  “Increasing the flow of blood to the injured area will allow the magic to sink in more deeply and be more effective.  Shall I stop?”   
  
Ciri glowered at him for a long moment, her green eyes narrowing at his poorly-veiled threat.  At last, she threw her head back and closed her eyes once more. “No.”   
  
He continued, taking care to monitor the pressure he applied and the tension of her body.  Not more than a few minutes had passed when she sat up again sharply, her eyes snapping open.   
  
“Kelpie!”   
  
Avallac’h’s brow furrowed in confusion at her exclamation.  “What?”   
  
Ciri jumped up and winced, the healing he had done effectively reversed in an instant as she applied too much force to her wavering ankle.  She cried out, more in annoyance than in pain.   
  
“Damn it!  I’ve left Kelpie!  My horse! I need to go back.”   
  
“Zireael--”   
  
“I have to find her before the Hunt does, if they haven’t already!”   
  
“Zireael, I highly doubt Eredin has made your mare a priority.”   
  
Her eyes grew cold, and when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly venomous.  “I know only other Aen Elle matter to you and your people, and you probably think less of me for it, but I’m not like you.  Kelpie is mine to care for, and I’m going to find her. I suggest you not try to stop me.”   
  
She turned away sharply.  Against his better judgement, Avallac’h reached out a hand to stop her, grabbing her lightly by the arm.  He held up a hand of surrender in an attempt to halt the fist she reflexively raised in response to being touched by him.  Fortunately, the gesture worked. Her eyes locked with his, still hard with anger, but she lowered her free arm and relaxed her fingers.     
  
“If you want my help at all, with whatever you dragged me here for,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “you’ll help me find my horse.”   
  
Avallac’h studied her for a long moment, then released her arm and nodded.  “Stay here and rest,” he instructed. “I’ll be back soon.”   


\----   
  
Frightened as she had been by the beast, Kelpie had not wandered so far as he had expected.  He followed her trail through the trees, noting where she stopped to bite at a tuft of grass, where she had pawed at the ground to reveal a hidden cluster of fruit on a thick, thorned vine.  He followed her path to a narrow stream, traced her path downriver, and at last came upon her in a small clearing, standing calmly in the shade of a grove of massive trees that had to be centuries old.     
  
Dappled in the sunlight filtering down through the canopy, the mare lifted her head at the sound of their approach.  Her nostrils quivering sensitively. Fortunately, Kelpie had come to know his scent a bit better since the last time he had tracked her down, and the mare seemed especially reassured when she caught Ciri’s scent as well.  She still danced nervously from foot to foot as he drew near, but she did not flee, nor were there any threats of biting. Shifting the unconscious Ciri’s weight in his arms once more Avallac’h raised a hand slowly. The mare hesitated, then brought her muzzle to his fingers, huffing softly at the sharp crackle of energy that danced between them.   
  
_ “M’aecáemm,  _ Kelpie, _ ” _ he murmured.     
  
The mare whinnied quietly and seemed to bow her head in assent.  She did as she was asked, following a short distance behind them as Avallac’h turned once more in the direction of their camp.  He wondered at what a strange sight they would make, the three of them, but there were no visible observers to witness their journey.  They made it back to their camp without incident, the sun high and the shadows narrow. Avallac’h laid Ciri gently upon her bedding, gently stroking her hair out of her face and arranging the furs around her so that she might be comfortable.  After tending to her, he tended dutifully to the mare, who had been standing obediently at the edge of camp and awaiting his instructions. First, he released her with a precise sign of his hand. Kelpie snorted at the sensation and wandered to the spot that she preferred best, a shady, grassy area far from the smoke of the fire.  She allowed Avallac’h to remove her saddle and spend a few minutes brushing the dirt and burrs from her coat. He found it cathartic to tend to her, having secretly grown quite fond of the bristly mare. Kelpie, too, seemed to enjoy the attention. When he finished, Avallac’h patted the side of the mare’s muscular neck and offered her a small, sour apple from a stash he kept hidden at the back of their camp.  Kelpie accepted the offering, then pointedly edged away, eager to decompress after the harrowing events of the day.    
  
Avallac’h turned his gaze once more on Ciri, still motionless on her pile of furs, and smiled softly.   _ Zireael will be pleased _ .  He removed his cloak and settled himself upon his own bed, drawing his legs in easing into a meditative pose to reflect and to wait for her to wake.  Not for the first time since the day had begun, he felt a pang of  _ déjà vu _ and could not help but recall his initial encounter with Ciri’s unique mare.

\----   
  
It was dangerous to return to the world they had left so soon, but Avallac’h saw that he had little choice.  He was certain she was not bluffing. If he did not find her mare, Ciri would flee, slipping away from him once more, possibly for the last time.  And if he did not find her soon, there was a good chance Kelpie would be killed, by the Hunt’s rabid dogs or by any number of other threats that lurked in the woods.  He summoned the portal grimly but stepped through without hesitation - there was no time to waste.    
  
He returned to ruin.  After their escape, the Hunt had flooded the area from which they had vanished, the hooves of their immense steeds trampling everything in their path, the Hunt’s presence leaving a sheen of frost over all.  The air was still cold, the clouds still dark. A chilling wind swept across the barren land. It was a harsh reminder of why Eredin’s fears were justified and of what awaited them all if Avallac’h failed. The body of one of the Hunt’s hounds lay not far from where they had escaped, its corpse still dripping.  Avallac’h could almost hear Eredin’s roar of anger, the singing cry of blade on bone as he released his frustration on the nearest target. He clutched his staff resolutely, drew his cloak closer against the cold, and cast his tracking spell, eager to find the mare quickly and return.    
  
Kelpie had bolted far, no doubt frenzied by the unfamiliar sounds and scents of the Hunt.  Thankfully, Avallac’h was able to travel rather quickly on his own, and he navigated the forest on light feet.  His haste was fortunate. Although the Hunt had departed, other dangers awaited the mare, just as Avallac’h had suspected.  He found her surrounded by a ring of starved wolves, their ribs jutting from their sides, their tongues lolling with hunger.  They were closing in quickly, made aggressive by their desperation, and the mare was fatigued from her arduous flight. The pack’s leader was pacing eagerly, ready to seize the first good opportunity to strike.  As the large wolf lowered itself to spring, Avallac’h raised his staff.    
  
The air cracked, a brilliant flash of energy illuminating the dark trees and casting long, twisted shadows.  The attacking wolf cried out pitifully with pain and rolled across the ground, smoke rising from its fur, before finally falling still.  The rest of the pack burst into motion, their attention turning to him. Avallac’h raised his staff again, sending a chain of energy forth that struck several targets.  The rest disbursed quickly, vanishing into the forest like ghosts.    
  
The commotion had startled the mare as well, however.  Kelpie danced back and forth, mortified with fear, her eyes rolling.  Avallac’h advanced slowly, steadily raising his free hand, palm-forward.  

_ “Cáelm,” _ he murmured, smoothly stepping forward.  “ _ Cáelm,  _ Kelpie…”   
  
The mare seemed to be settling down.  She lowered her head, huffing loudly, and locked her eyes on him as he approached.  He extended his hand slowly towards her muzzle.   
  
“ _ Cáe--bloede!”  
_   
Avallac’h hissed as her teeth closed on the flesh of his palm, hard enough to draw blood, and drew back sharply in surprise.  Kelpie screamed a challenge that seemed to echo through the forest, reared and flashed her hooves, then resumed her anxious dance.  Determined to be free of him, she began to step sideways, looking for an opportunity to bolt, but Avallac’h was growing weary of tedious tasks.  His eyes narrowed.   
  
“ _ Deien!”   _ _   
_ _   
_ He snapped the fingers of his left hand, and the mare instantly ceased her agitated movements.  Kelpie whinnied softly through clenched teeth, her jaw - and all other muscles - petrified by his spell.  Her chest heaved with rapid, panicked breaths, but otherwise she was motionless at last. Feeling a pang of guilt, Avallac’h’s shoulders sagged, and he slipped his fingers carefully into her mane.     
  
“You’re never going to forgive me for this,” he muttered, frowning as he realized he was, ridiculously, speaking to a horse.   
  
He raised and lowered his staff, sharply striking the ground.  Kelpie whinnied faintly again through her clenched teeth in terror as the portal burst into existence before them.  Muttering a revision to his spell, he relaxed the mare’s legs - just her legs and all relevant muscles, taking care to leave her jaws clamped - and escorted her forward into the portal.     
  
Ciri was waiting and upon them in moments.   
  
_ “Kelpie!” _   
  
“I would leave her alone for now,” he advised sternly, waving his bloodied hand.     
  
Her brows furrowed, “What did you do to her?”   
  
“What did  _ I _ \--?”   
  
Avallac’h stared at her, incredulous, but quickly realized he lacked the strength for another argument.  Stepping well away from the accursed mare and her rider, he withdrew his spell and freed her. To his surprise, Kelpie did not bolt or scream or kick.  She most certainly did not bite. She simply butted her nose fondly against Ciri’s shoulder in a nauseatingly innocent plea for food, which Ciri rewarded with a handful of fruit from their own supplies.  He said nothing, but sat moodily upon his bed and proceeded to repair his hand. He could feel her eyes on him, but he ignored it for several minutes. At last, she lost patience and cleared her throat pointedly.  He raised his eyes and met hers. When their respective gazes locked, the hardness in hers seemed to dissipate, replaced with what seemed like surprise, perhaps even confusion. Her lips parted and she began to speak, stopped, started again.  At last, she jutted her chin out stubbornly, crossed her arms over her chest, and glanced away.   
  
“Thank you,” she said swiftly, and nothing else.  It was far more than he had expected.   
  
“You are welcome, Zireael.”   
  
She sat down near him, and he resumed tending to his hand, quietly muttering a spell.  Ciri waited patiently, drawing up her knees and resting her arms on them. When at last he finished, he flexed his hand, nodded approvingly, and met her gaze once more.  She tossed her head, sweeping the loose tendrils of hair back from her face.    
  
“So, tell me how I can help.”   
  
\----   
  
She was dreaming.  She knew she was, for Ciri remembered the beast, the fight, remembered Avallac’h standing beside her, then remembered succumbing to darkness.  She was dreaming, but, just like the night before, it felt real. Extraordinarily real, in fact. Her better judgment told her to push it away.  If she focused, she could feel the edges of the dream, and she knew she could break out of it if she tried. But she did not. Instead, Ciri let herself fall further into it, using the pleasure she felt as an anchor to the present moment, fabricated though it was.     
  
She gasped, a particularly strong pulse of energy sending trills through her body.  She could feel her unchecked inner muscles contracting, pulling, eager for something to grip.  Ciri forced her eyes open, her fingers curling into the thick blanket she was lying on. Avallac’h knelt not far from her, watching her attentively, the firelight casting deep shadows across his sharp features.  One hand was raised, palm forward - the culprit of the ceaseless pleasure currently washing over her, so persistent it was almost maddening.    
  
“Avallac’h--,” she breathed his name pleadingly, hesitant to ask for what she truly wanted, but unable to keep silent any longer.     
  
“I’m here, Zireael,” he murmured calmly, his low voice resonating with the energy emanating from his hand.     
  
“I...I want--,” she twisted sharply, her back arching as a particularly powerful pulse of magic raced through her.     
  
“What do you want?”  His voice remained calm, but she was certain she sensed a hint of genuine curiosity in his question.     
  
“I want to feel you.   _ You _ , the real you, not just your magic,” she gasped, forcing out the words through ragged breaths.     
  
The waves of pleasure receded.  Ciri pushed herself up onto her elbows and glanced hesitantly towards him, afraid that this meant she had gone to far and their exercises were over.  But if he was angry or repulsed by her suggestion, he did not show it. If anything, he looked intrigued, though he remained knelt beside her, motionless, as though struggling with the decision.  Ciri opted to help him. She waited patiently to catch his attention, and when at last his gaze met hers, she watched him through eyelids half-lowered with desire.    
  
“Please, Avallac’h?”   
  
To her delight, her words had the effect she intended.  Without further hesitation, he re-positioned himself at her feet and began to deftly remove her boots.  She assisted him as best she could from her position and eagerly lifted her hips as he seized her breeches and remove them as well.  Beneath her waist, all that remained was her smallclothes, a thin, sheer fabric that clung to her hips. Ciri tilted her knees apart and displayed herself, a clear and encouraging invitation.  He reached his hand forward slowly, his expression unchanged, impassive unreadable. But his touch, as he rubbed her firmly through her smallclothes, was resolute and purposeful.  _ And surprisingly skilled _ , she mused, her lips parting in a silent gasp.   __ I wonder if the real Avallac’h shares these talents .     
  
She quickly dispersed the thought, uncertain what it might have on the integrity of the dream, and focused instead on the steadily-mounting pressure between her thighs.  Ciri moaned helplessly, the persistent pattern of his fingers combined with the strange, pleasant vibration that his touch always emitted driving her closer and closer to the release she craved - yet it still was not enough.  She craftily attempted to shift her hips so that his fingers would slide around the thin material, but he quickly caught on to her and paused. She immediately began to protest, her eyes snapping open in disappointment, but what she saw quickly silenced her.  He had slid his legs back and was now lying on his stomach, bracing his weight on his forearms. His hands gripped her hips, squeezing gently, his fingers snagging around the edges of her smallclothes. With her enthusiastic help, he pulled them down enough to reveal her, warm and slick with readiness.  He paused, his lips just inches from her soft skin, and looked into her eyes.    
  
“Would it surprise you, Zireael, to know that I’ve dreamt of your taste many times?”   
  
His pale gaze, intense and earnest, made her heart beat faster.     
  
“Avallac’h--ah!”   
  
He did not wait for her response.  He pressed his tongue into her firmly, working her as adeptly as his fingers had just minutes ago.  If his fingers gave off a pleasant vibration, his tongue and lips only seemed to amplify the sensation.  The effect was dizzying. Ciri panted and moaned, her hips struggling against him as he patiently followed her body’s cues and silent commands, drawing out wave after wave of pleasure.  She felt wonderfully overwhelmed, totally encapsulated in an inescapable pleasure that could not be surpassed. As if able to hear her thoughts, Avallac’h focused his tongue at the crest of her soft lips and slipped a finger within her, commanding a pulse of magic that filled her.  The combined sensations pushed her suddenly and definitively over the edge. A hungry moan turned into a scream of pure pleasure. She drove her back against the ground, her fingers curled into the furs beneath her, and Ciri let herself go, their combined energies making her legs tremble with the force of her climax.     
  
The sheer power of the ecstasy she felt seemed to crack through the dream, shattering it at the edges.  Darkness rushed in, erasing all, then receded. Consciousness took its place.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Speech translations:
> 
> Mire - See  
> M’aecáemm - Follow me  
> Cáelm - Be calm  
> Deien - Obey


End file.
